


Beautiful Ghosts

by LiquidLobotomy



Series: A Good Man Goes to War [10]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Bring tissues, F/M, Heavy Angst, I have been called a monster already for writing this., M/M, Minor Character Death, Pathonia Shaw is a monster, Slow Burn, Super amount of Mathias Angst, being mathias is suffering, brief mention of mild child abuse, but it had to happen., grief and mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28565775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidLobotomy/pseuds/LiquidLobotomy
Summary: The ghosts of the past haunt us as well. But the ghosts of tarnished memories are the ones that burn with the most dangerous of flames.And the memories were lost long agoBut at least you have beautiful ghosts
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw, Mathias Shaw/Edwin VanCleef, Taelia Fordragon/Anduin Wrynn, Valeera Sanguinar/Varian Wrynn [implied], Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn [mentioned]
Series: A Good Man Goes to War [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923286
Comments: 17
Kudos: 28





	Beautiful Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> _And maybe my home isn’t what I had known  
>  What I thought it would be  
> But I feel so alive with these phantoms of night  
> I know that this life isn’t safe but it’s wild and it’s free_
> 
> _All that I wanted  
>  Was to be wanted  
> I’ll never wander London streets  
> Alone and Haunted  
> Born into nothing  
> With them, I have something  
> Something to cling to  
> I never knew I’d love this world they let me into_
> 
> Recommended listening: Beautiful Ghosts - Francesca Hayward (NOT the Taylor Swift version please god no)

@}—>—

Taelia sat in the open window of Anduin’s royal suite, watching the dock below. She could just make out the small figures of Flynn’s crewmen bustling around, working the small carrack back into its dry dock. As they made port the night before, the harbormaster had informed the captain that a berth had come open for him to bring the _Arva_ from Boralus. Jaina and Arthas had portaled back to Kul Tiras shortly after reaching the port, and Anduin had insisted that the rest of the group, crew and all, take a rest for the evening before getting back to it the next morning. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” The girl startled, finding Anduin hovering in the doorway. 

“Done with petitions already?” she asked as he crossed to wrap his arms around her.

“For now,” he said softly into her hair. “I’m sure they’ll pour in with fervor once it spreads that I’ve returned to the city. I have a few meetings coming up on the bell’s chime, however. I wanted to check on you.” 

“I’m fine,” she insisted. She tilted her head at his skeptical look. “Honestly.”

The trip had done her a world of good, stepping onto the soil of Northrend with the truth at her back. The brief chat she had with Arthas before setting off home had quelled most of the fire she held in her gut. By the third night back at sea, she was laughing and playing cards, stealing the spymaster’s coin at every chance she could get. She’d also allowed herself to grow close to the young king again after putting some distance between them with the revelation of her father’s fate. It had weighed heavily on her that he had kept that information from her for as long as he did, but in the end, she was glad that he was at least honest with her.

The bell chimed the eleventh hour of the day. Anduin pulled from her embrace gently. “I have to meet with Genn and a few other council members. Are you going to be alright on your own here?”

“Was thinking of heading out for a spell,” she replied. “Might go down to the Rose.” 

Anduin nodded in agreement. “Your friend would like that.”

Taelia hadn’t given a lot of detail to Anduin, or any of them, on the meeting she had with the elderly owner of the Trade District inn. It wasn’t her place. Now that they’d returned, she had an itch to go and tell him about their voyage and to persuade him into talking with his grandson. She lifted from her perch on the windowsill and took Anduin’s hand to squeeze it.

“I’ll only be gone an hour or so,” she reassured him, planting a chaste kiss against his cheek. She grabbed her satchel and threw it across her shoulder, exchanging a fond smile as she ducked out of the suite.

Just as before, it took her half a bell and a check of her map to cross the city. Taelia found herself in good spirits as she walked briskly over the cobbled pavement with a bounce in her step. She only stopped once, her eyes catching on a glimmer of silver along the path in an archway leading into the Trade District. She crouched to examine the footpath, finding several silver tenpences _glued_ to the pavement, laughing at the ridiculousness of it before continuing on her trek.

Taelia stopped before the Gilded Rose, clutching her satchel. She had a few trinkets stowed inside, little things she had picked up that she thought the old man may like when they were traveling across Northrend. Her heart felt full, anticipating seeing his face light up at the small kindnesses. When she entered the inn, however, the bright smile on her face faded.

The tavern was empty and the lamplights low. There was a somberness that cloyed the air that wasn’t present when last she’d been here. She looked around, even going as far as checking the window for any sign that the inn was shut for the day. Sure enough, the open sign was displayed. 

“Hello?” She called out into the quiet of the room. She stepped to the barmaid station next to the door that led to Waltion’s flat. “Anyone here?”

“Be right there, love!” came the reply from an open door at the back of the inn, near a darkened table in the corner. A curvy woman appeared, carrying a crate of bottles, her strawberry blonde hair curling in her face. She placed the crate on top of the bar with a huff, dusting off her apron and pushing her hair back. When she brought her gaze up to recognize Taelia, her face fell as she blew out a breath.

“I came by to see Waltion,” said Taelia, almost cautiously. “He upstairs?” The innkeeper bowed her head and set her mouth in a sad line. 

“He passed, love. About a fortnight back.”

Taelia felt like someone had punched her in the gut. The lonely old man that she had befriended had passed while they were at sea. And worse, he passed without telling Mathias the truth. The innkeeper ducked past her and behind the bar. She plopped a small basket on the barmaid’s station.

“Some of his effects that he wanted me to give you,” she explained, “in case you had dropped back by.”

“He knew he was—“

“No, sweetheart. It was in his sleep. Healthy as a horse, that one.” The innkeeper paused thoughtfully. She reached out for Taelia’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “But, he was old, he lived a long, tormented life, and I think _you_ finally gave him that little bit of peace he needed, that little bit of strength to finally let that abomination of a woman go.”

“You knew?” Taelia asked. “About Mathias?”

The innkeeper nodded gravely. “Round the time Pathonia died. He wouldn’t come out of his flat for days, so I went up there with a bottle of brandy and convinced him to get it off his chest.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Swore me to secrecy and I don’t cross assassins. Not after my late brother.”

“ _Late_ brother?”

The innkeeper flicked her eyes to the basket. Taelia peered at the contents and noticed a framed S.E.L.F.I.E. nestled between a few journals and a rather thick sketchbook, among other small artifacts and trinkets.

The photograph of Mathias’ parents.

Taelia stood shocked still, staring at the contents of the basket, her heartbreaking even more. For Waltion, for Mathias, for the woman standing before her.

“Go on, girl,” the innkeeper said softly, nudging the basket towards her. “Let him know to come round for the recruitment ledgers and the old man’s will. Oh, and he’ll need to deal with the flat, sooner or later.”

Taelia nodded absently, shouldering the basket as she left the inn, her footsteps heavy with grief.

@}—>—

Mathias dropped unceremoniously into his darkened leather Fennington chair, rubbing his forehead before taking a swig of his coffee. He knew that the first day back and officially on-duty would be exhausting, but he wasn’t prepared for the sheer _stupidity_ of it all. 

He had sat petitions with Anduin in the early morning hours, then attended a rather lengthy meeting of the King’s advisors regarding the progress of what Greymane had come to call the _Windrunner’s Coup._ It was almost laughable to think that the old Worgen and golden highlord sitting there were boasting of their efforts of finding the Banshee Queen and her cohorts while he was traveling _by ship_ with the King, to Northrend, for over a month, and they still had nothing to show for it. Not even Lady Alleria could give them a straight answer. They reported sightings of everywhere Sylvanas Windrunner quite apparently wasn’t, locations that held no discernible logic as to what business she would have there.

_...may have spotted her near Tirisfal…_

_...a sighting near Quel’Danas…_

_Stranglethorn. Feralas. Aerie Peak. Mount Hyjal. Blackrock Mountain. On Draenor._

Mathias had bit his tongue, as he was accustomed to doing in royal audiences. It was all he could do not to spit out “For fuck’s sake, Draenor?” incredulously with a heavy roll of his eyes. The missing dark rangers were rumored to be convening in the north of Winterspring in a saber hovel, while the Blightcaller was said to be on three continents at once, one of which was Northrend. Light be damned, they just came back from bloody Northrend. He noted in the margins of his meeting ledger to ream Renzik if he had taken part in sending any of his operatives on one of these fools’ wild gryphon chases.

Shaw inhaled sharply and scrubbed a hand down his face, not at all surprised to find the barest hint of five o’clock shadow creeping against his jaw. Anduin’s oblivious advisors did that to him.

He took another hearty swig of his fourth cup of black coffee as his eyes scanned the piles of paperwork littering his desk. His first cup was done before he was out the door of his flat at first light, his second and third sucked down swiftly at the keep during the shitshow he was forced to sit through. He shifted a few missives and requisition orders for the next day, revealing a list penned in Renzik’s hand.

_Master Recruiter. Potential Candidates._

“Shiv!” He called sharply as he skimmed the list of names on the parchment. “Get in here!”

“You rang, Boss?” The goblin popped his head in the doorway of Shaw’s office, looking more than a little annoyed.

The spymaster presented his second with the list he had been glancing over. “What the hell is this?” Shiv tilted his head as he scanned the page.

“I thought I’d draw up a list of bridesmaids for your imminent wedding,” Renzik said smartly. “What’s it look like?”

“What happened to Freemore?” Shaw asked quizzically.

Shiv held his breath for a moment before his brow furrowed. “He died,” he said gravely, not a hint of snark or sarcasm behind it. “Couple of weeks ago.”

Mathias blinked several times, the bluster knocked out of him at those words. 

It always pained him to lose an operative. However, it was usually in the line of duty. A botched mission, being sent out to the warfront to aid champions, a hit gone wrong. No, this held a different weight. Freemore was old. He hadn’t been active as an assassin for decades, for perhaps longer than Shaw could remember. He kept to Stormwind, made his way around town. He was known and had a fairly memorable face. He didn’t have to hide, not with his position as a recruiter, and he was loathed to admit that Freemore was damn good at his job. And there was always something, right below the surface, that kept the old man’s interest in his affairs.

_What did you do this time, son?_

_What business is it of yours?_

The spymaster couldn’t shake a lingering feeling of a different type of grief washing over him. A grief he hadn’t felt since Pathonia’s passing. He furrowed his brow and tugged at the hairs of his goatee, deep in thought.

“Boss?”

Shaw flicked his eyes up to see Renzik still lingering in the doorway. “Send a summons to Rell, and have him briefed once he arrives,” he commanded quietly. 

“Sure thing,” the goblin replied, taking the parchment from him. “You’ll need to swing by the Rose and get the ledgers. The innkeeper refused to hand them to anyone besides you.”

Mathias nodded. “I’ll head over there later this afternoon. Pay respects and all that,” he muttered. “That’ll be all, Shiv.” The goblin gave a salute and disappeared from the office, leaving the spymaster to his paperwork and his thoughts.

@}—>—

Anduin slumped against the cushions of the plush sofa in his study. After meeting with his _advisors_ to catch up on the kingdom’s state of affairs, he canceled the rest of his audiences for the day. He was exhausted. He was exasperated. He had been away for over a month and the lack of progress on Sylvanas’ whereabouts was damning. 

The look on Shaw’s face throughout the meeting replayed in his mind. The spymaster had the best poker face in the whole of the Alliance, but Anduin could see in his posture, the narrowing of his eyes, the set line of his mouth: Mathias was trying like hell to keep from grinding his teeth into dust within his mouth.

It was all so... _ridiculous_.

The young king took a sip from his green tea, laden with heavy cream and vanilla sugar. Was it too much to ask to find one woman? He had set the most skilled tracker in history, a decorated paladin, and a _worgen_ for Light’s sake to locate and arrest her. It was infuriating. He tried to think of anything that could make his day go more south than it already had and came up empty-handed.

“Well, doesn’t this make for a delicious vision,” came a sultry, baritone purr from the entryway to his chamber, the scent of lingering hearth-fire embers wafting in behind the dark-skinned figure. 

Anduin was wrong.

“What do you want, Wrathion?” Anduin groused wearily, rubbing his forehead. 

“Now, now,” the dragon chided, his ruby eyes twinkling with delight as he waltzed into the room with a deep swagger to his step, “is that any way to greet a dear friend who hasn’t seen you in months? I’m hurt, Your Majesty.”

Anduin shot him a pointed look. “What do you _want_ , Wrathion?” he asked again, barely concealing the bite in his tone. He wondered idly which naaru he may have pissed off recently to have been blessed with a day like this one.

“What anyone would want, I suppose,” Wrathion drolled, “A quaint cabin in the lower highlands next to the beach. A good pair of running shoes you can wear out to dinner, not made from dragonhide, preferably.” He approached Anduin’s estate desk, fingering through the pile of parchments idly, pulling one from the stack and wrinkling his nose. “Tell me this report on the Banshee Queen is a poorly planned joke.” 

“I wish I could,” Anduin sighed before taking another sip of his tea. “I had just retired from an embarrassingly unproductive meeting with my council when you walked in here, _uninvited_ might I point out.”

“This is atrocious,” the prince muttered, his eyes skimming over the page. “Who in their right mind would think to look for Sylvanas Windrunner on Draenor of all places?”

“Please don’t remind me,” the young king groaned as he lifted from the sofa, crossing over to the sideboard to exchange his teacup for a glass of wine. He did not offer a glass to his guest. “Do you know how hard it was to keep an even demeanor in a room full of advisors twice my age who were presenting those asinine reports to me?”

Wrathion glanced up with raised eyebrows as the king took a hearty gulp of the dark red wine. “You know, I have a few Blacktalons that are sitting idle without a thing to do but stare at each other. I could send them on a search if you’d like. They’d probably come back in a quarter of the time with legitimate findings.”

“And risk my council getting up in arms that I asked _you_ to assist?” Anduin scoffed, flopping back down on the sofa. “I’ll pass.”

The dragon smirked. “Luckily for you, sweetheart, the Blacktalons take orders from _me_ and not _you_. A happy coincidence, I dare say.”

“And how is that?”

“Sylvanas Windrunner is not only a threat to the Alliance but to the entire world in which we live. That makes her just as much my concern as yours.” Wrathion quickly pocketed the parchment and moved to sit in a wingback chair across from the king, crossing his legs to let an ankle rest against his knee. He bounced his foot as he settled into his seat.

“I suppose,” Anduin murmured thoughtfully, sipping at his wine. He let a pause linger thickly between them. If the dragon set his operatives out in search of the Banshee of his own accord, there wouldn’t be much that the elders of his council could say on the matter, not even Shaw or Valeera. 

“Why are you here, Wrathion?” he asked again, gentler this time.

“Perhaps I’m seeking a little bit of gratitude. Maybe even an apology?”

“Gratitude?” the young king balked. “For what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Wrathion griped. “Maybe, I didn’t quite _appreciate_ being interrupted from my continued work in Silithus by two highly haughty elves, one of whom seems to loathe my very existence, only to be dragged by my tail to the arse end of Aspect’s Blue Azeroth to pull you and several of your companions from a glimmering pit of despair.”

“Wrathion, I—“

“And after we _did_ rescue you, not a thank you, not a kiss my royal arse, scarcely a word in my direction,” the prince continued, his voice remaining surprisingly calm. “I dropped everything I was working on down there to help _you._ ”

“Wrathion, if I may—“

The dragon crossed his arms. “You couldn’t even bring yourself to introduce me to your new bed-partner, and don’t for a second pretend for my sake that she’s not because I can smell her on you even now.”

“Wrathion!” Anduin exclaimed, growing more and more frustrated by the second. He let out a long breath as the dragon paused in his tirade, his face not angered, but possibly disappointed. He sighed defeatedly. “Yes, I am grateful you were there to assist in our rescue, and I am truly sorry if I acted appallingly towards you afterward.”

“Afterward,” he repeated. “Is it only ‘afterward’ that you’re sorry for?” Wrathion mused playfully.

“Don’t push your luck,” Anduin warned. “I am not about to apologize for punching you in the face. _That_ , you deserved.”

“I seem to recall you saying I deserved _more_ than that.” The young king shot him a pointed glance, earning a light chuckle from the dragon in return. “I know it’s a bit too little, too late,” the prince’s voice softened, “but I do feel remorse for what happened to your father, Anduin. It was not necessarily an outcome I could have foreseen.” He bowed his head. “It’s not my intent to open old wounds, sweetheart.”

Anduin bit the inside of his cheek and swirled his wine in his glass. “I told her about you,” he said absently. “About us.” He averted his eyes and took another sip of his wine.

“Oh?” Wrathion perked up. “I do hope it was mainly my more devious transgressions.”

“I told her the truth.”

“And just how did that go over?”

Anduin gave a small tilt of his head. “Surprisingly well, all things considered.”

The dragon hummed thoughtfully. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to a formal introduction. Did you happen to give her a separate chamber?”

“No,” the young king answered truthfully. “She’s out running an errand in the city. She said she wouldn’t be long.”

“And what time was that, pray tell?”

“I don’t know, around the eleventh bell.” 

A knowing smirk crept along the dragon’s lips. “You do realize that it’s nearly five bells past.”

Anduin felt his breath rush from him. Taelia was usually the more punctual of the two, making it suddenly concerning that she hadn’t returned for nearly six hours. He pinched his bottom lip in worry, only pulled from his thoughts when Wrathion rose from his seat.

“I should head back. There’s still a great, flaming sword sticking out of the heart of sweet Mother Azeroth that needs tending to,” the dragon said softly. He placed a gentle hand on the King’s shoulder. “I just want you to know, you’re the only real friend I’ve ever had, Anduin. And I realize that I cocked that up. But perhaps someday, I can mend our friendship, maybe more, and you’ll find it within you to forgive me.”

Anduin looked up at the prince expecting jest in his ruby eyes, but finding nothing but sincerity, _real_ sincerity. He felt it deep within the Light flowing through him that for the stubborn dragon to ask for forgiveness was possibly the most difficult thing for Wrathion to acquiesce. “Someday,” he replied, the hint of promise low in his voice.

Wrathion gave a small, wry smile. “That’s more than I could have asked for.” The dragon gave a small bow, pulling his hand from Anduin’s touch. “Until next time, Your Majesty.”

The King propped his elbow on the arm of the sofa, resting his cheek against the back of his hand. His mind drifted to Taelia and why she possibly hadn’t returned. It was certainly silly, she was an adult and could handle herself. But something nagged at him that something was… _wrong_. He lifted from his seat, wincing from the sound of one of his joints popping loudly, and headed off to his bed-chamber to quickly change before ducking into the secret passageway out of the Keep.

@}—>—

“Put your backs into it, boys! This girl ain’t gonna dry dock herself, you know!” Flynn crowed as he and his crew worked to get the small carrack into the space provided just off of the Stormwind docks. He braced his legs, flanked on either side by Siward and his brother Harmen, straining to push the ship up onto the patent slip as Nailor and Swailes hauled ropes from the bow. “I’ve seen you bastards dock the _Wake_ before, and this girl’s not nearly as thick as her.” After another strong push of effort and more motivation from the mouth of the seasoned captain, the _Lion’s Whelp_ finally settled into place. 

Flynn moved a few paces away, cracking his back and swiping the loose splinters from his palms. He let out a deep huff and rubbed the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm, looking out across the docks. He noticed a small dark-haired figure hovering close by and he smirked. 

“Why don’t you boys head down to the Oink and Squeak for a hot meal and a round on me,” he called over his shoulder, satisfied that the carrack was secured. He put a hand on Nailor’s shoulder. “Have Erika put it on my tab,” he instructed, adding “and don’t let the twins drink me further into debt, yeah?”

The captain grabbed his discarded shirt and dusted it off, his crewmen wandering off towards the steps leading to the city. He threw the tunic over his head as the young man approached.

“Been a while, eh _Jerek?_ ” Flynn teased. “How’s the logging camp treating you these days?”

“Have you seen Taelia?” the disguised king asked quickly, his voice laced with worry. The pirate noticed that his eyes were darting around him and his hands fidgeted nervously. 

Flynn furrowed his brow. “Not since she headed to the Keep with you last night,” he admitted, his voice low. “Everything alright?”

“I don’t know,” Anduin confessed. “Seemed fine this morning. She said she was going to the Gilded Rose and that it would only take an hour or so, but that was several bells ago.” 

“Yeah, that’s not like her,” the captain muttered in thought. “Tae’s not prone to skiving off without letting someone know.” He blew out a breath, placing his hands on his hips. “I’m supposed to meet Mathias at his office once the ship was secured. Let’s drop by there first,” he suggested. “I’d feel better having him with us if something _did_ happen to her.”

Anduin nodded. “I agree,” he replied, falling in step with the captain as they headed into the city. 

They crossed into Old Town at a brisk pace, heading straight to SI:7. Flynn marched into the administrative building, throwing a two-fingered salute to Renzik as he took the steps two at a time, Anduin-in-disguise on his heels. He was surprised to find the door to Mathias’ office ajar, the spymaster standing at his desk with several parchments in his hands, glancing between them. 

“Oi, mate,” Flynn announced as he rapped twice on the open door with a flick of his wrist. “You about done? Seems we’ve got a lost little girl to find.” 

Shaw raised an eyebrow and flicked a glance at Anduin lingering at the captain’s side. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to be out in the open like that?” he asked pointedly, dropping the papers onto his estate desk to cross his arms and lean his hip against the edge of the lacquered wood.

Anduin pulled a burnished gold fobwatch from his pocket and held it in his palm. Flynn watched as the disguised king closed his eyes for a few moments. When he opened them again and pocketed the watch, he saw no discernible difference but heard the soft chuckle come from his lover’s lips.

“Good to see you again, Jerek,” Shaw said quietly with a smirk. The smile was short-lived as he blinked a few times. “Wait, lost girl? Taelia?”

“She went off to the Rose to visit the old man and has yet to return,” Flynn explained. 

Mathias furrowed his brow and uncrossed one of his arms to tug at his goatee thoughtfully. “She couldn’t have been there long,” he muttered.

“Why is that?” Anduin asked curiously.

“Freemore. He, er, passed… while we were on the return trip home,” the spymaster admitted.

“Oh, mate, I’m sorry,” Flynn breathed. “You alright?”

Shaw flicked his glance between the two of them. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked the captain quizzically, who merely shook his head. “We should start looking for Taelia at the Rose and go from there. I need to get the recruitment ledgers from Allison and offer my condolences anyway,” he said as he slung his satchel across his shoulder and blew out the lamplight, motioning them out of the office, locking it behind him. He stopped to poke his head into Renzik’s office before leading them out onto the high street.

@}—>—

Dusk was falling over the city as the sun began to slip under the horizon. The lamplights began to dimly illuminate the paths as the trio crossed into the Trade District towards the Gilded Rose. It was still a bit early in the coming evening for the tavern to be busy, but the spymaster noted that there wasn’t even a single table occupied, which was fairly unusual. Two barmaids sat perched on stools at the end of the bar, conversing quietly with Allison as she wiped the counter. He approached the barmaid’s station and cleared his throat.

“Oh hells,” the innkeeper muttered, tossing the cloth across the back bar, approaching them. “I was wondering if you’d darken my door today,” she clipped, grabbing a ledger out of a cubby to set on the counter.

“Sorry to interrupt your conversation, sweetheart,” Flynn broached, sidling up to Mathias’ side, “but we’re looking for a friend who possibly stopped in earlier. Dark hair, yay high, goes by the name Taelia?” He held up a hand to indicate the cadet’s height. 

Allison nodded with a purse of her lips. “Yeah, she was here earlier. But she left hours ago after I delivered the news on Waltion.”

“Any idea where she may have gone?” Anduin asked. 

“Sorry, love. I gave her a few bits and bobs the old man wanted her to have and she didn’t tarry long. I didn’t notice which way she went.”

“I, too, was alerted earlier this afternoon about Waltion,” Mathias said quietly. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Allison snorted. “I think I should be telling _you_ that,” she quipped. She pushed the ledger towards the spymaster.

Mathias picked up the book, pulling out an unsealed envelope from between the closed pages, flicking his eyes up to the innkeeper. “What’s this?”

“The old man’s will,” she said pointedly. “Oh, and this,” she added, rifling through the pocket of her apron, placing a key on the counter. The bronze was dull with age, and it was tied with a familiar red string. He felt Flynn lean forward to look over his shoulder.

“Hey, isn’t that a key to—“

“Pathonia’s flat,” Allison confirmed, not taking her eyes off Shaw. “He kept it in his coat pocket for decades. I was instructed a while back to make sure it made its way into your hands.”

Mathias took the key and turned it in his hands. Why in the hell would Waltion Freemore have a key to his flat? The flat he inherited from his grandmother? And why was it adorned with the same type of red string that she wore around her ring finger? He looked to the captain, who averted his eyes. 

“Why would the old man have this?” he asked the woman cautiously.

Allison’s eyes softened with something akin to sympathy. “You should probably find your friend,” she offered cryptically, turning to move back to where her barmaids were waiting.

The spymaster opened his satchel and dropped the key inside, along with the recruitment ledger. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he kept the envelope in his hand. 

“You coming, mate?” Flynn asked near the door. Mathias didn’t even notice that he and Anduin had started to walk away. He nodded and followed, taking out the parchment and unfolding it against the envelope.

His eyes skimmed the document as he walked a pace behind Flynn and Anduin. It was a standard will, as much as he could discern. Five thousand gold to the orphanage. The inn and flat attached along with a stipend of ten thousand to Allison Bristol for her years of loyalty and service. His feet stopped moving as his eyes caught on the next passage, his heart thundering in his chest.

_All other properties and dowries, including coffers in the cities of Booty Bay, Ironforge and Stormwind, as well as a summer cabin in Lakeshire are hereby bequeathed to my only living blood relative, my grandson, Mathias Shaw…_

That couldn’t be right. The only family on record that Mathias knew of was Pathonia. He was too young to remember his parents, a mother who died during a botched assassination hit, and the identity of his father was non-existent. That he was aware, Pathonia had never married. He carried her name, her legacy. 

_Only living blood relative…_

_Grandson…_

“Mate?” 

Mathias startled, his head snapping up to find a wave of concern in Flynn’s eyes. 

“Any idea where we should start to look for Taelia?” Anduin asked tentatively.

Shaw folded the parchment and placed it back in the envelope, stuffing the letter into his satchel. He tried to swallow but he found his mouth had gone dry.

“She's at my flat,” he replied hollowly. 

“You’re certain?” Anduin asked, but Mathias made no reply, only pushed past them hurriedly.

“How the fuck does he do that?” Flynn whispered to the young king as they fell in pace behind the spymaster, leading them back towards Old Town.

@}—>—

Taelia sat at the small kitchen table at the heart of Mathias’ flat, thumbing through Waltion’s sketchbook, the basket sitting next to her chair. She didn’t know the time, nor did she care. Each picture she came across in the book, lightly drawn in amber graphite then inked meticulously over in an elegant and steady hand, only served to bring her more and more heartache. Portraits of Mathias, identified not by page number but by his age as he grew from a young boy to adulthood scattered amongst other faces. Edwin, Mathias’ parents, a scarce few of Pathonia, one or two of the innkeeper Allison, a random assortment of unique guests to patron the inn. She couldn’t quite contain the soft sob that escaped her lips when she came upon a few of her best friend towards the end of the volume.

And then there were the letters, nestled between various sketches. She ran her fingertips gingerly across the ink. The penmanship was elegant yet clear, and all of the text was in Common, open and raw, not a single ciphered passage concealing his sentiment. Each entry laid out a confession. Every secret he vowed to keep, every lie he was forced to tell, every disgusting infraction Pathonia committed in the name of King and Country. 

Sitting nearby were three beautifully carved wooden figures, a cardinal, an armored horse, and a ship, all small enough to fit into her palm. She recognized them from around Waltion’s flat. Each one held a reverent detail that left her with the same awe she felt during their travels when Mathias would sit with a chunk of wood and a small knife on nights he wasn’t up to playing cards. Upon inspection, she noted a small number impressed in the bottom of each piece. Ten, thirty-six, forty-two.

She turned back to the book and flipped to an earlier spread, faded golden sketches of two boys fishing surrounding a larger drawing of a teenage Mathias sitting hip to hip with a dark-haired imp of a boy, the pair looking at each other with wry smiles of fondness. Carmine ink dotted both the fire of the young spy’s hair and a kerchief hung around the other’s neck. The corresponding letter on the opposite page told of happier times, the observations of a friendship growing into something more.

_...there is a touch of wildness in you, lad. I can see the same thirst for freedom your mother had, that once upon a time your Gran had as well. She can deny its existence all she wants, try to keep you under a firm hand. But I do not doubt that you will follow him the rest of your days, and I will try to help you foster that development as much as I am able, even if it is from afar…_

Tears streaked the girl's cheeks as she flipped to another page. The illustration depicted a profile of the young redhead appearing to be leaning against a wall and his face a vision of rage, the number sixteen scrawled into the corner. Other soft sketches dotted the next, various expressions of his grandson as she turned to another, finding more captures of Mathias and Edwin in assorted expressions and chaste poses.

“Tae?” 

The girl slowly lifted her gaze from the book, a pair of tears breaking her lashline to fall down her flushed cheeks. She hadn’t heard Flynn enter the flat, finding him standing in the doorway with a look of concern creasing his brow. He was swiftly pushed aside, Anduin rushing to her, kneeling beside her seat and reaching up to place his hand against her cheek.

“Shit,” she breathed, leaning into the young king’s touch. “I was supposed to be back a while ago, wasn’t I?” 

“We’re just glad you’re alright, love,” he murmured, rising to embrace her tightly, kissing the top of her head. 

She pulled back gently, finally noticing the spymaster lingering by the door. Her lip wobbled, another set of fresh tears coming down her cheeks in earnest. His eyes finally met hers, a mixture of sorrow and confusion flitting across his emerald eyes before their gaze was broken by Flynn moving between them.

“Come on, lad,” the captain said, clapping Anduin on the shoulder to coerce him away towards the trap door leading to the tunnel below the flat. “What say you give me the grand tour of that fancy gilded keep of yours.” 

Taelia watched as Anduin gave her a longing look, wearing every bit of his compassion across his face as he was ushered through the hidey-hole, Flynn’s voice disappearing behind them. 

The girl worried her bottom lip as the spymaster pulled the strap to his satchel over his head to place the pack on the table and lowered himself into the seat adjacent to her, letting out a deep sigh. He drew the envelope from the bag gently and placed it next to the open book before her. She removed the parchment held within, skimming over the will to find the beneficiary dedication to the man sitting next to her. There it was, black and white, clear as day.

... _my only living blood relative, my grandson, Mathias Shaw…_

“When Anduin took me to visit his mum’s memorial,” she began tentatively, “I caught him putting flowers on your Gran’s grave.” She scrunched her brow and swiped at her eyes, trying to stave off more tears. “I’m so sorry, Mathias. I should have said something.” 

The spymaster shook his head as he scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t understand why he kept any of this from me,” he muttered, his eyes flitting about the items on the table. He picked up the wooden cardinal and idly turned it in his hands.

“She would have killed him,” she admitted, tilting her head as she caught the flicker of Mathias’ shocked stare. “And you, for finding out.” She reached out to take one of his hands in hers. “After Pathonia, he didn’t have the confidence that you would have believed him.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Mathias whispered.

“He said, ‘Mathias is the product of his grandmother’s upbringing’,” Taelia recounted sadly. 

She watched as the older man averted his eyes and let out a trembling breath, shaking his head. “No, _that_ is something I cannot believe, that she would have retaliated to serve her own ends. Pathonia was strict and disciplined, yes. But she was _right_ and _just_ in her actions, always in service to the Crown.”

And there it was, the Pathonia Shaw that Mathias was _allowed_ to know all his life, even though the contrary was laid out in its entirety within a book of an old man’s lifetime of shame and misery. It twinged her gut that he was sitting here defending her.

“No,” she said quickly. The girl pulled her hand away to touch his cheek, encouraging him to look at her tear-stained face again. “No love, she wasn’t.”

Taelia folded the parchment and closed the book over it. She flicked a glance over her shoulder towards the mantle over the hearth, to the empty space she had left between the pictures already displayed. Turning back, she reached into the basket and pulled out another frame that housed the happy family portrait of a ginger-haired girl cradling a wailing newborn with her husband at her side, laying it on top of the tome and pushing it gently towards him.

“It’s all there. Everything...” she trailed, letting the silence between fill in the rest of her sentiment. She watched him pick up the S.E.L.F.I.E. to inspect it. His eyes roamed over the photograph, the color in his face draining quickly as realization passed over him. Her heart tugged, seeing the moment it clicked, the horror she felt as Waltion told her the story of his parents’ fates.

_Wait, I know this. Mathias’ first assignment was the target that his mother failed to kill. He doesn’t know, does he? How could she do such a thing? He was just a little boy._

“I think I’d like to be alone, Lass,” he murmured hauntedly, staring at the picture.

Taelia rose from her chair, gently picking up the wooden horse from the table and placing it into her pouch as she slung it across her shoulder. She paused. “Flynn?”

Mathias shook his head, heaving another shaky sigh. The girl bent, placing a soft kiss on the elder’s forehead.

“We’re just through the tunnel should you need us, love,” she whispered, turning to lower herself into the crawlspace, only pausing to take one last look at the devastation upon Mathias’ brow.

@}—>—

“His grandfather?” Anduin asked incredulously, accepting a glass of Darkshire Apothica from the captain. “I always thought that Mathias had no living relations.”

Flynn went back to perusing the bottles on the sideboard curio of Anduin’s study. “I’m not sure how much I should tell you without his consent.” He furrowed his brow as he picked up another bottle of wine for inspection. “Are you sure you don’t have any whiskey?”

The King shook his head as he took a sip of his drink. “I don’t drink it often enough to keep any on hand, I’m afraid. There may be a few bottles of ale in the chill cabinet, however.”

“Ta,” Flynn replied, crouching to look through the small magicked larder, coming up with a bottle of White Lady Pale Ale, popping the cap with his teeth and spitting it into his hand before taking a swig. He flopped unceremoniously into a wingback chair, twisting the neck of the bottle between his fingertips thoughtfully. “I’m pretty confident that Tae knows quite a bit more than I do, though she’s much better at knowing the right time and place for breaking secrets. You remember that day we cast off for Northrend, yeah? Just before weighing anchor to leave port?”

Anduin nodded. “Though I was in our cabin for most of that, trying to figure out the best way to unpack.” He watched a small wry smile cross Flynn’s lips.

“The old man was hovering around the docks, just watchin’. Taelia made up some excuse to send me over to him, can’t even remember what it was now.” The captain paused to take another sip from his bottle. “Anyway, he tells me this cautionary tale about his long, lost love, how she saved them both by servicing the Crown, _your_ kingdom, and such, but she turned… _dangerous_ I believe was the word he used.

“He said, ‘don’t let him get caught up in his loyalty to the Crown, else you’ll be visiting the grave next to hers.’” Flynn inhaled a sharp breath and raised his eyebrows as he shook his head. “Now, Mathias had long since told me about his dearest Gran, and I’m not too terrible at ‘rithmetic. It didn’t take much to put the two together.”

“I didn’t know his grandmother,” Anduin offered sympathetically. “He’s been the head of Stormwind’s Intelligence for as long as I can remember. Father mentioned her a handful of times, how dedicated and reliable she was…”

“She was despicable.” 

Both men looked up to find Taelia entering the study with her brow furrowed and her shoulders tense. She snatched the open bottle of Apothica and joined them, depositing herself onto the plush sofa next to the young king, one leg tucked under her. She took Anduin’s glass, gulping it down to empty before pouring another and handing it back.

“Is he alright?” Flynn asked hopefully.

Taelia shook her head gravely. “He wants to be alone tonight,” she said softly, leaning into Anduin a bit. “Needs to sort out the mess that’s been dropped on him.”

“There’s a guest suite across the hall that never sees use,” Anduin offered. “It’s yours for the night, Captain. No need to patron a room at the inn.”

“Much obliged, lad,” Flynn tipped his bottle towards the young king in salute, then chugged the rest of it down, setting the empty bottle onto the tea table between them.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding?” 

Anduin looked up to find his personal spy entering the study with a smile on her face. He had forgotten that it had been so long since he had seen Valeera that he had almost startled at her smooth voice. He blew out a breath as he handed his wineglass back to Taelia.

“My apologies, Val. It’s been a busy day for us all.”

She paused and tilted her head. “From what I’ve heard, you canceled over half of your meetings this afternoon. Busy, or otherwise occupied?” she teased. He watched as she flicked her keen glance between the occupants of the lounge as they grew quiet and maudlin. “Shit, who died?”

Anduin averted his eyes. He could feel his two companions fidgeting, a sniffle breaking the silence from Taelia. He looked up to find Valeera staring at the empty wingback chair next to Flynn.

“Where’s Shaw?” she asked quietly.

The young king blew out a soft breath. “He’s at his flat,” he said, swallowing thickly. “His recruiter passed while we were away. He’s not taking it very well.”

“Oh,” was all the elf could manage. She stood awkwardly for a moment before grabbing a glass from the curio, as well as another ale from the chill cabinet, which she passed to the captain with a nod of his head in thanks. She filled her glass with the blood-red wine that Anduin and Taelia had been sharing and joined them in the empty seat.

The cadet huffed, sitting up and crossing her arms, a crease forming in her brow. “It’s just… _terrible_ ,” she groused, taking a sip before handing the glass back to Anduin. “I’m sorry, love. The whole thing has me worked into a snit.” She shook her head. “That woman was wicked, and vile, and cruel. The things she manipulated him into doing in the name of King and Country. She nearly destroyed your kingdom,” she said around a mirthless laugh, “and for what? To keep Mathias and his lover apart.” She turned to Flynn. “He told you about Edwin, yeah?”

The captain nodded gravely. “Though I’m starting to suspect that _his_ side of the story now has more holes in it than a Zandalari warship.”

“I’m sorry, did you say Edwin?” Valeera asked cautiously. Anduin noticed how her face had paled, her posture starting to stiffen.

“Er, he was Mathias’ childhood sweetheart,” Flynn replied. “He died several years back.”

The two continued to converse, but it became merely background noise. To anyone else, Valeera would appear to be aptly listening to the conversation. But Anduin had known her long enough to know her tells. She was shaken. The name had also sparked something within him. 

Edwin VanCleef.

It was all his father obsessed about for nearly a decade. Everything would always come back to Edwin. He was the reason his mother never lived long enough to see his first name-day. Nothing else mattered when the Defias was brought up, only that the bastard Edwin VanCleef needed to be brought to suffer, to _die,_ to have his head brought before the High King in a wooden box and not a moment before. Nevermind the black dragon Onyxia, nevermind the legitimate concerns of the stonemasons, nevermind anything else that was a would-be threat to the Alliance. It was only _ever_ about Edwin to Varian Wrynn.

And the only person who could quell the rage within the Great Wolf was Valeera.

“Val?” he interrupted. “Are you alright?”

The woman startled. “Hm? Yes, of course.” She drained her glass quickly and set it a little too sharply onto the tea table next to Flynn’s finished bottle. “Perhaps I’m not that great of company.” Anduin noted the false smile, her darting eyes. She lifted hastily from her seat. “I just wanted to check on you since your return.”

“Val…”

“I have some assignments I have to attend to and may be gone a few days.”

“ _Val_ …”

“We can certainly talk of your travels when I—“

“ _Valeera._ ” Anduin didn’t even realize that he had risen from his seat on the sofa and crossed to stand before her, reaching out to touch her arm to stop her and keep her from turning away. He ducked his head to try and catch her gaze. “Don’t do this,” he soothed. “Please, my dearest friend, it’s not worth it.”

Valeera inhaled a sharp breath and schooled a forced passive expression upon her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quietly but with bite, purposely not looking at him.

The young king dropped his hand, anguish filling him with what he knew he had to do. He let out a defeated sigh before lifting his head. 

“Then as your king, I am commanding you to turn the other way,” Anduin said evenly. “Go to Val’Sharah, visit _Broll_. Just be somewhere else this night. But you are to _stand down_ and leave Mathias Shaw be. That is a direct order. Do you understand?”

Valeera clicked her jaw and finally turned to look him in the eye. “As you wish,” she responded icily, “ _Your Majesty._ ” She turned on her heel and stalked out of the study. Anduin stood watching after her for several moments.

“Er… what just happened?” Flynn asked cautiously, the young king flicking a glance down at the befuddled captain.

“Anduin?” Taelia asked.

The King swallowed hard, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Valeera has served my family for two generations, nine years directly at my father’s side. Just the mention of the name Edwin VanCleef would set him into a blind rage you wouldn’t believe. She lived through that. I fear what may be coursing through her right now.”

“Were she and your father…” Taelia trailed. 

Anduin shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever been aware,” he admitted, but now he wasn’t so sure, not with how she had reacted so strongly.

“Lad, you don’t think—“

“He’ll be fine,” Anduin replied quickly. “Valeera is fiercely independent, but I’ve never known her to disobey a direct order.” He moved back to the sofa, letting Taelia curl around him once more as he sat. He grew silent and prayed to the Light that his words would hold true.

@}—>—

It was just turning dark when Valeera crept onto SI:7’s grounds, keeping to the shadows in case a wayward guard or operative would be lingering to catch interlopers. She managed to slip around the back of the administrative complex, scaling the wall with ease. She had done it hundreds of times, back when the trust between herself and Shaw was balanced on the edge of nothing more than a thin, golden spellthread. 

The pair had formed a much better accord over the past few years. The events of the Broken Shore and Shaw’s release from Felsoul Hold had seen to that. It had been easier for them to agree on matters, especially when it came to Anduin and helping him to shape his path as the penultimate leader of the Alliance. They both wanted him to succeed, both wanted what was best for him while letting him be independent.

Anduin was a different king.

But the ghost of Varian still kept a hand on her shoulder, guiding her steps and holding onto her heart. Hearing the conversation in Anduin’s study lit a fire in her core that would not be doused. How many times did she have to soothe Varian out of a burning rage at just the mention of VanCleef’s name? And it didn’t stop when his head was brought from Westfall to him. The war on the Defias Brotherhood was never-ending for the former gladiator. They had taken so much from him, taken a piece of him that he would never let go of, no matter how many steps he had walked away from those days.

_...and for what? To keep Mathias and his lover apart…_

_...He was Mathias’ childhood sweetheart. He died several years back…_

She managed to shoulder the window to Shaw’s office with a soft grunt, sliding easily inside the room with a featherlight step. She went directly for the locked drawer on his desk, pulling out her kit with trembling hands. Frantically, she set to work on the lock. She knew the mechanism so well by now that it should have only taken a total of three and a half seconds for it to trip, but through her rage, the tumblers weren’t wanting to cooperate. She stifled a growl, scrambling her nails along the edge of the wood in fury. Huffing out a breath in impatience, she set on the picks again, finally feeling that click as the tumblers gave way obediently. 

The drawer was ripped open and Valeera set to rifling through its contents. She pulled out the detritus, tossing it out onto the lacquered surface of the estate desk. An oil-slicked Stormsilver coin, Shaw’s Uncrowned insignia, chunks of wood, gnomish devices, various small knives, spare poison vials. The red bandana that had taken up residence within for the better part of the past decade was notably missing. There was nothing worth being brought into question to use as any kind of untoward evidence.

Valeera found herself sneering at the emptied drawer. She brought a fist down onto the offending wood as it splintered easily under her ire, with a give that felt more padded than it should. Her ears flicked straight, and she raised an eyebrow curiously. 

The elf narrowed her eyes and bent closer to examine the crack in the lining of the drawer. She pushed down with one hand, the other clawing the thin wood plank up as it snapped. It wasn’t any thicker than a gold pence and gave way under her fingertips with ease. She ripped the false bottom out to reveal a thick, unmarked dossier. Pushing aside the various trinkets she had spilled onto the desk, she slammed the file onto the surface, flicking it open.

There were more reports than she had ever seen in any SI:7 file she had read before. At first glance, none of them seemed related. A rabble-rouser laundering gold to the Bloodsail Buccaneers. A high-profile noble selling state secrets to the Defias. A Syndicate double agent residing in the upper districts of Stormwind gathering information. Scarlet loyalists quietly infiltrating the city by posing as Lordaeron delegates. Upon closer inspection, small margin notes in Shaw’s ridiculously neat left-handed penmanship gave away the plot.

_...fishing off the harbor until midnight…_

_…drinks at the Rose with B and E…_

... _Inauguration of the finished Cathedral, missed…_

_...late for dinner @ Oink & Squeak… _

Valeera’s blood boiled. Every single piece of parchment outlined the entire illicit affair, right under the Kingdom’s nose. Angrily, she flicked each page until she came upon a small S.E.L.F.I.E. photograph pressed just before the last missive. A young, fresh-faced Shaw smiled brightly at her, his tell-tale copper hair mussed and sticking up all over. Next to him, a slightly shorter boy, dark hair just as wild, leaned in with his scrunched nose pressed to the redhead’s cheek. Her eyes caught on the bandana slung around his neck and words Shaw had said to her cryptically years ago as the two of them sat in this room pouring over ciphers slinked their way into the forefront of her mind.

_Not all of us are so fortunate to have another bed to hop into, Ms Sanguinar._

“Mother _fucker,_ ” Valeera breathed. 

She dropped the photograph back into the dossier, gathering it back up to tuck under her arm. She didn’t bother sweeping the room to put the items she disturbed back into their rightful places as she crossed the room and disappeared back into the night from the window. 

It wouldn’t make a difference come daybreak.

@}—>—

Valeera made it to the small parcel of flats at the center of Old Town in no time. She shadow-stepped across the corridor and immediately crouched before the only door without a bell, the one marked number seven in the hallway. She placed the dossier silently on the floor next to her and quickly pulled out her lockpicks and set to work, trying to keep herself calm and her hands steady. It wouldn’t do to lose her focus, knowing that her target was inside.

The tumblers fell into place smooth and easy, just like always, but when she felt the last one obey under her touch, her brow furrowed. The bolt didn’t retract as it was wont to do. That couldn’t be right. Shaw was way too paranoid and he only left his door unlocked every twelfth of never. Carefully, she turned the knob, and sure as shit, the door cracked open with ease. She grabbed the file and shouldered the door just right as she slowly pushed, knowing exactly how to open it without setting the hinge to squeal. Slipping inside, she closed it behind her silently. 

The main room of the flat was dimmed, a single lamplight on the kitchen table burning low enough to snuff at any moment. She caught the sight of a broken picture frame near the hearth, the glass in shards under it, but she dare not touch. Various detritus scattered across the table, wooden carvings and loose parchments lying haphazardly, and a pair of SI:7 standard-issue pauldrons sat on the far end of the golden, lacquered wood. Her ears flicked at the barest sound of movement from the back corner, near the old armchair he kept near the spiral staircase and she tilted her head when a small cough sounded in the silence of the room. Valeera shifted around the table with feather-light steps. Sitting on the floor with his back to the chair was Shaw. 

She loomed over him, one hand caressing the hilt of her dagger, menace flaring her nostrils. She was repulsed just looking down upon him. She tossed the file at his feet with a thud, the barest hint of a startle jolting the man before her. He didn’t look up, only spared a glance at the folder sitting offensively next to his knee.

“Isn’t this just the icing on the cake of a perfect day,” he slurred. “Took you long enough to find that.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t execute you on the grounds of treason and conspiracy against the Crown,” she sneered softly.

“Get on with it then,” the spymaster retorted. “You’ve been wanting to for years, haven’t you? Finally found that one pesky piece of evidence to hold against me. Go on, Ms San… Sang… _Valeera._ I haven’t got all night and I’m starting to bore of your insuff… _fuck_ , you’re annoying.”

Valeera crouched in front of him. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and his moustache was ungroomed, the wax long since worked out by fidgeting fingertips. She took his chin in her hand to force him to look at her. His cheeks were flush and his red-rimmed, blood-shot eyes were blown wide at the pupils. He tried to shake her off weakly but she held her grip as he tried to focus on her, his breath overwhelming her with the sharp aroma of whiskey.

She glanced about him, an empty bottle lay abandoned to one side, with another cradled in his hand and two-thirds of the way gone. An uncorked third was close by. An open sketchbook lay in his lap.

“Fuck me,” she gasped incredulously. “Shaw, are you _drunk?_ ”

The spymaster let out a mirthless snort. “Gloriously so,” he drawled.

“What is this,” she demanded, letting go of his chin to snatch the book from him. 

“You want to know how much I don’t give a shit about your little vendetta right now?” he spat. “Turn to page… fuck, I don’t know which one. The sentimental bastard marked them with my age. Twenty-eight.”

She kept an eye on him as she flicked through the pages of the book as he had instructed, but with caution. A portrait of a severe woman appeared on the marked page, standing near a window. The same window in Mathias’ office that she had slipped through less than an hour ago.

_Dear Mathias,_

_I shouldn’t have been surprised. History repeats itself. It’s not the first time she’s done this, marked an innocent man for death, the only crime being an affection for the wrong person. I’m wholly shocked that she hasn’t had a hit on me for years._

_I heard the nobles talking in the Slaughtered Lamb. The snide comments made on the rebuild. It didn’t make sense. They talked of the Cathedral and how it wasn’t to their standards. Horsecock, if you ask me. The craftsmanship alone is breathtaking to behold, and you can tell him I said that. They talked of the windows and his name was brought into question. My blood boiled._

_I took this right away to her. ‘Did you know of this?’ I asked her. ‘Of course, I was the one who mentioned it to Wishock and Romano. Ridgewell was wary but he agreed.’ I saw it in her eyes. I saw it there years ago when your father died. There was a deep satisfaction to that look. It shook me then and it shook me now._

_His days are numbered, son. As I live and breathe, Pathonia will have her way. Your Edwin was always her enemy, and now she’s made him the enemy of the Kingdom. I can only hope that you can prove her wrong. Change history, son._

Shaw let out a grunt of indignance. “It was never about gold, or power, or the King or dragons,” he muttered. “All of that was just a matter of convenience.”

“Are you implying that it was _convenient_ for that bastard to murder the Queen?” she scoffed.

The spymaster rolled his eyes, as much as he could in his current state. “Ed wasn’t even in the city that day. Although he might as well have been, for all the King’s ire.”

“You’re not even denying that you were fucking him. By the Sunwell, he was their damned _leader_.”

“That ended long before you had entered the picture,” he slurred pointedly. 

“For fuck’s sake, Shaw. Do you even realize how many times Varian defended you? Insisted to me how good of a man you were, how clean your record was? ‘Loyal to a fault’, he’d said. _This_ is how you shit on his grave?”

He flipped the dossier over and reached in to draw out a parchment, not looking at which one, and handed it to her. Valeera pursed her lips as her eyes scanned the page.

_BY ROYAL DECREE OF THE KINGDOM OF STORMWIND AND THE MOST NOBLE HOUSE OF WRYNN:_

_TO THE MARSHALLS OF THE STORMWIND GUARD, AND TO THOSE STATIONED IN THE MUNICIPALITIES OF DUSKWOOD (FORMERLY BRIGHTWOOD), LAKESHIRE, AND WESTFALL,_

_WHEREAS, THE ACCUSED FUGITIVE,_ **_EDWIN VANCLEEF_ ** _HAS THIS DAY BEEN FOUND GUILTY AND CONVICTED ON MULTIPLE COUNTS OF:_

_-TREASON_

_-CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE CROWN_

_-DISORDERLY CONDUCT_

_-ORGANIZING, PROMOTING AND INCITING DISTURBANCES WITHIN THE CITY WALLS_

_-ORGANIZING, PROMOTING AND INCITING BURGLARY AND LARCENY_

_-MURDER IN THE HIGHEST DEGREE OF HER MOST ROYAL MAJESTY, QUEEN TIFFIN WRYNN_

_-ATTEMPTED MURDER OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, PRINCE ANDUIN WRYNN_

_THE BOUNTY IS HEREBY SET AT FIFTY-THOUSAND GOLD PENCE TO THE CHAMPION (OR CHAMPIONS) WHO EXACTS JUSTICE TO THE ACCUSED FUGITIVE AND DELIVERS THE HEAD DIRECTLY TO HIS MOST ROYAL MAJESTY, HIGH KING VARIAN LOTHAR WRYNN._

_AN ADDITIONAL FIVE-THOUSAND GOLD PENCE PAYABLE FOR ANY OTHER MEMBER OF OR LOYALIST TO THE DEFIAS BROTHERHOOD BROUGHT HENCEFORTH INTO CUSTODY, ALIVE OR DEAD._

_WRITTEN BY MY HAND THIS ELEVENTH DAY OF OCTOBER IN THE YEAR TWENTY-FOUR._

_MATHIAS SHAW_

_FIRST DEPUTY, SI:7_

_SIGNED, THIS TWELFTH DAY OF OCTOBER IN THE YEAR TWENTY-FOUR._

_PATHONIA SHAW_ _MATHIAS SHAW_

 _SPYMASTER, SI:7_ _FIRST DEPUTY, SI:7_

_HIS ROYAL MAJESTY_

_KING OF STORMWIND_

_AND HIGH KING OF THE ALLIANCE_

_VARIAN LOTHAR WRYNN_

Valeera lifted her eyes sharply to the broken man before her, finding him taking gulps from the whiskey bottle like they would save his life. Or destroy it. She yanked the bottle from his grasp and set it behind her, out of his reach, just as he had done to her Light knows how many years ago. The uncorked one as well.

He grunted, shifting as if he were going to stand. Valeera placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him down, keep him steady. “I did _everything_ that was ever ordered of me, including signing my lover’s death sentence. Could _you_ have done that?”

“That’s not relevant—“

“Isn’t it? You had, what, nine, ten years with the King? Edwin was _mine_ for close to _thirty_ ,” he spat. “Could you have done the same?”

“But it’s _not_ the same, Shaw,” she replied, quiet and even. She watched him swallow thickly.

“What if it were Anduin?”

Valeera’s eyes widened incredulously. “How dare you—“

“It’s not that far of a stretch, really,” he said, “if he had chosen to stay with the dragon.” He tried to shake off her hand from her shoulder, but she tightened her grip. “If Varian had declared them enemies of the Crown, could you have written the warrant? Signed them? Carried out the sentence? What if the Nobles declared Varian a traitor, what would you have done then?”

Valeera averted her gaze. She couldn’t imagine that possibility. It was unthinkable. Anduin would never. _Varian_ would never.

“That’s what I thought,” the spymaster muttered. “Do you remember when they brought him the box?”

“You left,” she whispered.

“I left,” he repeated. “I couldn’t bear to look. It almost makes me envy you.” She brought her eyes to meet his again, glassy under an anguished brow. “I’ve done some uncon… uncooons-tch… _appalling_ things in my time, things I knew about it. I wrote this. _Me_. I sent the only person I ever loved to die. I signed his death sentence. And that’s not even scratching the surface of the things I didn’t know.” Shaw tapped on the book in her hands. “Ten.” He tapped again, more sharply as he furrowed his brow. “Go on, find it. _Ten.”_

Valeera set her mouth into a small frown but obeyed. Flipping backward, she reached the page he had instructed, his hand gently stopping her. The sketch on the right side depicted a young boy, a dagger being placed into his small hands, one of the two he kept sheathed at his sides even now as a man. He tapped once more, drawing her attention to the letter on the opposite page.

_Dear Mathias,_

_She told me what she had you do. What you’ve done. Son, I can’t say if you’ll ever know, if you’ll ever find out, but I pray you don’t. I don’t know what kind of damage that could do to a man at any age, learning he was instructed unknowingly to kill his own father._

_I’m beginning to think this isn’t about service to the Kingdom anymore. It feels like sport. Like she gets some kind of satisfaction out of it. I knew she didn’t approve of him, but I didn’t think these would be the lengths she would take. I almost pray you don’t find a someone of your own, when you’re grown, just to ensure she doesn’t take her wrath out on them either._

_Your parents loved you. Never forget that._

“That was my initiation. The S.E.L.F.I.E. over there on the table confirms the target,” he said softly. “He said my name as I slit his throat. I just thought I had slipped up, given away my identity. My grandmother set me to the switch when she got my report.”

The elf regarded him, watching a tear fall. Immovable Master Mathias Shaw, the stone-faced, blow-hard asshole that had barely shown an emotion for as long as she had known him. _This_ is what broke that man. She gently shifted from her crouch to sitting on the floor across from him.

“However long and however much you’ve ever hated me, it pales in comparison to how much I hate myself right now,” he mumbled, inhaling a sharp breath. “I wouldn’t hold it against you in this life or the next if you still felt the need to sate Varian’s vengeance. So, get on with it if you must.” He blinked blearily, and scratched his head. “But it would just be another pebble in the water, just like Edwin. You execute me, and then Flynn won’t stop hunting you. He’ll kill you, or die trying. And forget whatever trust Anduin has for you. History tends to repeat itself, Valeera.”

Valeera let out a soft sigh, tilting her head as she began to rifle through the pages of the book, examining the sketches. He was right. She was loath to admit it, but the asshole was right. The consequences were too great, and she would lose too much. She would lose _Anduin,_ for fuck’s sake.

Had Varian still been alive, she wouldn’t have hesitated, wouldn’t have allowed for this conversation at all. He would have been slumped on the floor and succumbed to the poison an hour ago. Now? She could feel the edges of her compassion seeping in, under her skin. The war on the Legion had changed them both, almost effortlessly.

_Yes, I was worried back then, as a person._

“Fuck,” she muttered. She closed the sketchbook and lifted slightly to place it on the seat behind Shaw’s head, turning around to sit next to him, nudging him with her hip so that she too could lean against the chair. Carefully, she slipped her arm under his to curl loosely around his bicep and gently, she leaned her head against his shoulder. She didn’t dare attempt to offer more than that. “I hate you,” she mumbled. She felt a small snort come from the spymaster as he relaxed, just a little. 

“I hate you, too,” he replied quietly. 

They sat like that for a while, both deep in thought, the silence in the room cloyingly thick. Every so often, Shaw would start to nod off, only to startle himself awake. Valeera suspected that he was afraid of what dreams may come if he allowed himself to fall asleep, but the amount of liquor pulsing through his veins had other plans. Eventually, she helped him on unsteady feet make it up the spiral staircase to his bed, mixing a potion from his stores in the dresser and coaxing him to drink it before he rolled over.

“I’ll be downstairs,” she said softly. “Holler, if you need.” She had said those words so many times. And here she was, saying them to Shaw. She shook her head and quietly left the room, padding down the stairs back to his makeshift living room to straighten the detritus and settle into the old armchair for the night.

@}—>—

Dawn broke through the crack in the curtain slowly, a sign of a hazy morning. Valeera had curled her legs up in the armchair, doing her best to be comfortable for the several hours she sat up through the night. Fortunately, there had been no sound of movement from the upstairs, only checking once to make sure that the spymaster hadn’t awoken and done something drastic. She had found his copy of _A Melody of Earth and Wind_ and started reading it to keep herself awake and occupied.

Not long after the seventh bell chimed in the distance, she heard the sound of the loose floorboard nearby being disturbed with a flick of her ears. She didn’t startle, didn’t stop in her reading as she sensed someone crawling through the hatch. She noted the weight and size of the figure, and was correct in her assumption that it was the ship’s captain of whom Shaw had grown fond.

“He’s upstairs, sleeping,” she said evenly, making a note of the paragraph that she was on, if only to pilfer Anduin’s copy later to continue. “I had to pour a peacebloom elixir laced with a bit of spineleaf down his throat, just to get him to drift off.” She closed the book and reached back to set it on top of the secretary bureau in the corner before rising from the chair. 

The captain regarded her curiously. “So you didn’t kill him, then?” he asked, only half teasing. 

“He was halfway to drinking himself to death when I let myself in,” Valeera admitted with a shake of her head. She reached out and touched his arm. “He really shouldn’t be left on his own for a while.” 

The captain nodded and crossed past her, disappearing up the stairs into their bedroom. She watched after him, waiting for the creaks in the old walls and ceiling to settle. She gathered up the dossier and sketchbook, making a mental note to herself to make sure they were delivered back to Shaw’s hands later, and ducked into the crawlspace to head towards the Keep. 

Perhaps, between her and Anduin, some good could come out of the passing day after all.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Beautiful Ghosts -or- The total emotional annihilation of one Mathias Shaw.
> 
> References to Eat Pray Stab by bideru  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184129/chapters/66397048
> 
> This was a MONSTER to write. No joke, I’ve taken almost 3 weeks to finish this. Granted, we are visiting family out of state and we have been super busy with that and kid and Christmas and I’ve continued to work while we are here. It’s been a really emotional thing for me to get through. If any of my other pieces hurt to write, this one broke me. I cried quite a few times getting this out. A huge shout out and thanks to my non-wow bestie as well as @bideru for chatting through this with me, the latter for keeping me on track with Valeera, since technically it is on the heels of her version. They knew of a few things I had planned for this, but I kept a very big reveal from them both. You know the one.
> 
> Edit: there was a paragraph that bothered me towards the end for some time now. I still had the original wording sitting on my doc forever and today decided to just put it back the way it was. It’s a little thing but I still maintain that I was happy the way it was.
> 
> I appreciate the fuck out of every single last one of you lovelies. Comments and Kudos are always welcome and appreciated. I hope I did at least Valeera and dearest Shaw justice in this one.


End file.
